


Signed, Sealed, Delivered

by track_04



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Forced Marriage, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Invisible Rapists, M/M, Multi, Ritual Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Table Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-05-30 21:57:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19412200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/pseuds/track_04
Summary: Martin makes a deal with Peter. Unfortunately for him, becoming a part of the Lukas family requires more from him than he expected.





	Signed, Sealed, Delivered

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anysin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/gifts).



"I'll do it," Martin said, striding into the empty room that had once been Elias's office with more confidence than he felt.

Peter turned away from his inspection of Elias's things, already smiling. "I suppose I'll start making arrangements, then."

Martin stopped, thrown off guard by Peter's easy agreement. "That's it, then?"

"Yes? Were you expecting me to argue with you?"

"I just thought there'd be...more."

Peter laughed and shook his head, expression vicious and amused. "No, Martin. All I ever needed was for you to say yes. Unless you'd like a ring? I suppose that's how it's usually done, isn't it."

Martin swallowed, tongue heavy with the effort it took to speak. He reminded himself what was at stake here, and that this was bigger than any of his silly childhood daydreams about true love and happily-ever-after. "No, I--no. It's fine. I'd just like to be done with it."

"I don't think I believe that," Peter said, and turned his attention back to rummaging through Elias's things.

\--

When Martin had imagined his wedding day--and he had, often, in those lonely moments just before falling asleep and directly after waking--he'd imagined something a bit like this: butterflies in his stomach as he slipped into a suit purchased just for the occasion, his husband-to-be smiling at him as he pinned a flower to his lapel, a quaint church in the middle of nowhere surrounded by a sprawling garden, a tightness in his throat the moment before he said, "I do." 

The wedding that he got was, on the surface, all of those things. 

Peter showed up on his doorstep early that morning, already dressed in a sharp suit, holding a box with a name that Martin didn't recognize written across it in elegant black script. Inside was a matching suit for Martin, wrapped carefully in white tissue paper and looking so expensive that he was almost afraid to touch it. The smile Peter gave him as he pinned a spray of delicate white flowers to his lapel was knowing in a way that made Martin's throat tight. The church that they were married in had been beautiful once, before its partitioners had moved or died or otherwise left it behind; now, it was a monument to better times, yard overgrown and walls not-quite crumbling where they stood. Inside, the pews were empty save for a dour-faced man and woman dressed in outdated clothing, looking almost as forgotten as the building around them. Martin ignored them as he walked up the aisle, Peter's arm looped through his own. They left a trail of footprints in the dirt behind them, a path leading from the front door straight to the pulpit.

Saying _I do_ felt like a relief, if only because it meant that the ceremony was over and they could leave the dust and the loneliness and the dour-faced man and woman behind them.

The almost-rightness of the day made the roiling in his stomach worse as their cab pulled up the long drive leading to the Lukas family home; there was a small part of him that wanted to turn off his doubts and let himself enjoy what was left of the day, even if he knew it didn't really mean anything. 

Peter's hand covered his, squeezing it with something that could have been mistaken for affection, his voice soft and amused as he answered their driver's attempts at friendly questions. His skin was dry and just a bit colder than it should have been. 

"Here we are." The driver pulled to a stop and smiled at them in the mirror, friendly in that blank way that said he'd forget their faces before he even made it back down the driveway.

Martin glanced out the back window into the fading evening light, watched it stretch out toward the horizon, never-ending. He turned his hand in Peter's, lacing their fingers together, and faced his husband.

Peter shared a look with Martin, questioning and amused. His eyes looked the same as they had the day that one of the research staff--Andy, a paunchy middle-aged man who insisted on calling Martin "Marcus", no matter how many times he was corrected--had disappeared.

"Lovely place you've got here," the cab driver said, flashing them a bland smile in the mirror before quoting them the price for their trip.

Martin looked from the driver to Peter, thinking about the half-full mug of coffee that had sat on Andy's desk for a week before it disappeared, too. He squeezed his hand around Peter's and stared at him.

"Fine. Just this once," Peter sighed dramatically and pulled a folded bill out of his pocket, his eyes never leaving Martin's as he handed it to the driver. "Thank you. Keep the change."

Martin gave Peter's hand one more quick squeeze, then loosened his grip.

"Thanks, appreciate it." The driver unzipped a pouch nestled between the seats and tucked the bill inside, giving them a half-hearted salute. "Congratulations. I hope you enjoy your evening."

Peter smiled at him, wide and all-too-sincere. "Oh, we will."

\--

Saying that the Lukas family home felt lonely seemed a bit cliche, but it was all that Martin could think as Peter led him through the long, empty hallways, past vacant portrait frames and expensive furniture covered in a fine layer of dust.

There were no servants or random family members to greet them, no stern faces or warm smiles or disapproving looks tossed Martin's way. It was just him and Peter, completely alone as they wandered through the halls in their expensive matching suits. He still didn't know how Peter had managed to find a suit that fit him so well, like it had been tailored specifically for him; it was the least unsettling thing about all of this, and the safest to focus on, so he let himself puzzle it over as Peter lead him deeper into the house.

The longer they walked, the emptier the space around them felt, like they were the only two people who had ever or would ever exist in this place. Martin would have panicked and tried to make a run for it if not for Peter's arm in his, steering him forward. He could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck, ruining the collar of his shirt. 

He'd just started to wonder if this was how he'd spend the rest of his life, arm-in-arm with Peter, walking towards a destination that they'd never reach, when Peter turned them to face a set of double doors and stopped. He winked at Martin as he pushed them open, like they were sharing a secret, unaffected by the sweaty, panicked look that Martin gave him in return. He stood there, giving Martin a moment to calm the frantic beating of his heart, and then lead him inside.

The room that they stepped into was large and sprawling, clearly never intended to be truly useful. It was the kind of room that Martin had only ever seen on one of the paid tours through fancy homes that his mother had been so fond of, where you weren't allowed to do much more than quietly exist in spaces intended for people much more well-off than you were for a brief, privileged period of time. He remembered the looks his mother had given him the few times he'd tried to ask questions or point out something he liked while they wandered through those rooms and he suddenly felt very small again.

He pushed down the memory and tipped his head back to take in their surroundings, staring at the large, empty ballroom that surrounded them. It had the same air of neglect as the church, a place that had once been full of life and now stood alone and forgotten. The floor was scuffed and dirty and the windows were shuttered, closing them off from the rest of the world. The only light in the room came from a dusty chandelier, a once-grand thing that someone had probably taken pride in making, now shining feebly above them. The ceiling stretched out wide and empty around it, like a dark, gilded mouth waiting for the right moment to swallow it whole, and Martin with it.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Peter said, pausing momentarily to let him appreciate the view. "It's been in the family longer than I have, which is saying something."

Martin nodded and looked away, tried to find something else to focus on. He found the only other thing worth looking at--a table standing alone in the center of the room, its top gleaming dully in the low light, cut in half by a delicate-looking linen table runner. The cloth looked understated and expensive, like the suits that both he and Peter wore; he could see where it was starting to yellow around the edges. On top of it sat an open book with a fountain pen resting beside it, its tip leaving a small, dark stain on the cloth beneath it.

Martin stared at that ink spot, dread climbing up the back of his throat. "I thought you said there was going to be a reception?"

"What do you think this is?" Peter turned to him, wrinkles in the sleeves of his suit jacket from the long train ride from London. "They even decorated for you, just like I asked."

Martin frowned, noticing the bouquets of half-dead flowers scattered along the side tables lining the edges of the room, unsure if they'd been there a moment before. He breathed in deep, caught a whiff of their perfume, thick and cloying, like fruit that was about to go off. "I just expected--you usually need people to have a party."

"Do you?"

"Yes? Generally speaking."

Peter's smile would have been disarming if it weren't so obviously a lie. "Well, I wouldn't worry. I'm sure they'll turn up eventually." 

"And what do we do until then?" Martin asked, an edge of annoyance in his voice. It cut through the emptiness of the room around them. He clenched his hands into fists and did his best to hold onto the feeling. "If they're anything like you, we'll be waiting a long time."

"I'm told it runs in the family," Peter said, using the arm he still had looped through Martin's to tug him across the room toward the waiting table.

Martin dug his heels in, hesitating for a moment just because he could, and then let himself be dragged along to stand in front of the table. Peter reached down to pick up the pen and offered it to him. He stared at it a bit stupidly. "What's that for?"

Peter looked at him the same way that he'd looked at him in his office when Martin had first come to him for help, the grey of his eyes amused and thoughtful and predatory. Maybe even a little fond. "Adding your name to the family register."

Martin looked down at the book, the pages empty save for dark water stains around their edges, and swallowed heavily. "Do I have to?"

"I'm afraid so." Peter shrugged, the motion sending a bead of ink from the tip of the pen down onto the floor between them. He didn't sound the least bit sorry.

Martin took a deep breath and made himself reach for the pen. His hand only shook a little as he laid it against the paper and signed his name on the top line of the book in a messy scrawl. The room seemed to sigh around them, the emptiness of it pressing up against his skin; he did his best to ignore it and laid the pen back in its place on the table.

Peter turned the book toward him and leaned forward to get a better look. "Martin Blackwood--I suppose this means you won't be taking my name, then."

"Oh, I--am I supposed to? Will it still work if I don't?"

"It will." Peter closed the book, setting it and the pen to one side. "It doesn't really care what name you use."

"Oh. That's good, then."

Peter made a thoughtful sound and grabbed Martin around the waist, turning him and pushing him back against the edge of the table.

Martin grabbed the cold wood with both hands and swallowed. "What are you doing?"

Peter leaned in close. "Starting the celebration. Isn't that what you wanted?" 

"I don't--we can't. No one else is here."

"And I thought you were the imaginative one." Peter tightened his arm around Martin's waist and stepped closer, the scent of whatever soap he used drowning out the stink of dying flowers. "You really can't think of anything else that we could do?"

"No." Martin laid a hand against Peter's chest and tried to push him away, but he only seemed to move closer the harder he pushed. "Not _here_. The door's open. Anyone could walk in."

"Exciting thought," Peter said, and leaned down for a kiss.

It was rougher than Martin expected, more insistent than the perfunctory peck on the lips that they'd shared in the church a few hours before. That kiss had been just long enough for Martin to get a hint of how Peter's mouth felt, to feel the scrape of Peter's beard against his chin and wonder, brief and embarrassed, how it would feel on other parts of his body. It had made him think that kissing Peter might not be so bad.

And it wasn't. Peter's mouth was soft and warm against his, and the possessive way his fingers dug into the small of Martin's back felt almost reassuring. It made it easy to pretend that he wanted this, and that Peter actually wanted him, and this wasn't something they were both doing to prevent the end of the world. Martin fought the feeling for as long as he could, half-listening for footsteps coming down the hallway. Then Peter thrust his tongue into his mouth and tangled a hand in his hair, pulling sharply, and Martin groaned, one hand gripping the lapels of Peter's jacket as he tried to kiss him back.

Peter made a sound of approval and pushed his hips forward, forcing Martin further back against the edge of the table until he was half-sitting on it. The wood dug into the backs of his thighs in the same way that Peter's fingers were still digging into his back, holding him in place. He could feel Peter's cock pressed against his hip and felt a surge of panic that had him turning his head away.

"Your family will be here soon."

Peter traced Martin's lower lip with his thumb. "I don't think they'd mind."

Martin scowled, face hot with embarrassment, and tried to pull away. The table dug into the backs of his thighs, holding him in place. "I mind."

"Do you?" Peter arched an eyebrow and glanced down between them. "I must have read that wrong, then."

"That's not--" Martin wished either the table or Peter were a bit less sturdy. Or that he were stronger. Less stupidly afraid of this, of all things. "We'll ruin our suits."

Peter laughed, sounding genuinely startled, and leaned in to kiss the side of his neck. He pushed his hips forward until Martin shivered. "We can always buy new suits, Martin."

Martin closed his eyes and pressed his hand against Peter's chest to try to force space between them. "Can we at least go somewhere more private?"

"We could, but it's a very big house, and I don't think either of us really want to walk that far." Peter hummed thoughtfully and rubbed himself against Martin slowly, watching him with the same expression that he wore when he watched him do admin work. Martin had always thought it was amused and slightly condescending, but from this close, he thought he could see hunger, too. 

"I want to go somewhere private," Martin repeated, lifting his other hand to join the first in trying to push him away. " _Please_."

"I'm afraid that's not an option." Peter sounded almost sympathetic as he used the arm around Martin's waist to spin him around and pin him face down against the table.

Martin laid there for a moment, dazed. "What are you doing?"

"What's required," Peter said, his hand sliding around Martin's hip to work open the front of his pants.

"No, stop--we can't. Peter, stop!" Martin's voice broke on the last word. He laid his hands flat against the table and tried to push himself up, hoping to throw Peter off of him, but Peter's hand was like a stone against the small of his back, solid and unmoving. Heavy enough to hold him in place while Peter pushed his pants and underwear over his hips and down his legs, leaving them to pool on the floor around his ankles.

"Don't worry, I'll make sure to have your pants cleaned." There was amusement in his voice as ran his hand up Martin's thigh. "This will be easier if you spread your legs."

"Peter--please, let me up." He could feel the callouses on Peter's fingertips as they traced the curve of his hip. It sent an unwanted thrill through him, made him gasp as his hands slid against the slick wood of the tabletop, trying to find purchase. "Stop."

"I'm afraid I can't. And it really is best to get it over sooner rather than later, don't you think?" he said in the same tone that he used when he was commenting on one of Martin's spreadsheets. "Don't worry, I'll be gentle. That's what you want to hear, right?"

"I want you to _stop_ \--" Martin started, words dying as one of Peter's fingers pushed into him without warning. Martin yelped and jerked forward against the table, trying to escape the cold, slick stretch of it.

Peter stilled, waiting until he stopped struggling before he pushed his finger deeper, sliding it in up to his third knuckle, the wet squelch echoing through the emptiness of the room. "You know, I've always appreciated how hard you work, Martin, but you really do need to learn to relax."

Martin let out a choked off sound of pain. He told himself it wasn't a sob. "Please, Peter."

"I supposed I'll just have to teach you." Peter slid his finger out of him and then thrust it back in again, forcing him forward against the table. He did it again before Martin could manage to gather enough breath to protest, building up a rough, steady rhythm that made his body ache. "I suppose it's good for both of us that you're such a remarkably fast learner."

Martin closed his eyes and dug his nails into the table, having a brief moment of worry about the state of the varnish before Peter's finger found a spot inside of him that forced a broken moan out of him. 

"Now, was that so hard?" he said, sounding all-too-satisfied with himself as he thrust his finger against it, rubbing insistently.

"Stop." Martin's toes curled in his overpriced shoes and he reached one hand back, trying to grab any part of Peter that he could. "Peter, I'm going to--"

"That would be the point." 

Martin gasped, body shaking as he came, Peter's finger still moving inside of him. It didn't stop even when Martin did, touching him after he was spent and overly sensitive, moving until it went from pleasure to discomfort to pain. It stopped just as it started to be too much, and Martin was ashamed of the almost grateful sound he made when Peter slid his finger back out of him.

Peter leaned over him, pressing himself along the line of Martin's back and laying his lips against his cheek almost gently. Martin could feel Peter's clothed cock pressing against his ass and flinched. He tried to imagine the picture he made, half naked and stretched out against the table, absolutely no plausible deniability for what they'd been doing if anyone were to walk in and see them.

"Can we--I want to go upstairs. Please." Shame burned along the back of Martin's throat, making his voice catch.

"Of course. As soon as the party's over." Peter's beard scratched uncomfortably at his cheek as he pulled away.

Martin realized he was free and tried to stand, intent on putting his suit back into some semblance of order before their guests arrived. He hadn't even managed to straighten fully when he felt hands on him again, pinning his wrists and hips and forcing his shoulders back down onto the table. 

"Peter--" he started, struggling, turning his head to see Peter standing beside him, both hands tucked into the pockets of his suit. Not that he should have needed to see that to know that something was wrong. There were too many hands to belong to one person. "What's happening?"

"Your introduction to the family. Don't worry, I've already made it clear what is and isn't allowed."

As if they'd been given some sort of cue, the hands moved, sliding him against the table until his head was hanging off one end and his bare ass off of the other, his feet barely scraping the floor. Peter was somewhere to the side of him now, just out of his line of sight. Everywhere else in the room that he could see was still empty.

A hand that wasn't there grabbed his chin, forcing his face forward and his mouth open. He didn't even manage a protest before something wide and warm shoved its way between his lips and down his throat, thrusting in with a complete lack of care. In front of him, there was still nothing but empty air. He felt the rough scrape of a zipper against the sides of his face as a cock pushed its way down his throat. He gagged and tried to pull away, but the hands on him held him fast, forced him to lie still and take it.

There were hands everywhere, more than he could count; they explored his ass and thighs, pinched his stomach roughly and left red marks down his back, tugged painfully at his limp dick. He managed a choked-off sound of pain and felt a hand in his hair, stroking gently, followed by Peter's voice.

"What did I just say about learning to relax?"

Martin's eyes started to water, his throat burning as fingers shoving their way inside of him. They were longer than Peter's, the skin softer but their movements rougher. They fucked his body the same way that the person in front of him was fucking his face, fast and uncaring, pressing into him like they were trying to see how much he could take.

The cock in his mouth pulled out suddenly, gave him just enough time to gasp for air before something warm and wet hit his mouth and ran down his chin.

"Peter," he said, his voice rough. He gasped again, started to plead with Peter to do something--stop what was happening, explain it, lie and tell him it was all a dream. He got a half-sob out before a new set of hands forced his mouth open and a second cock shoved its way between his lips. 

Peter's fingers kept moving through his hair, gentle and soothing. "It's a shame you can't see yourself right now."

The words were followed by the fingers pulling out of his ass, spreading painfully wide on their way out. Something too wide and cold to be fingers shoved back inside of him, fucking him hard and fast. He jerked away from it, could feel bruises forming inside of him as it thrust wetly in and out of him. The only other sound he could hear were his own choking gasps and Peter's quiet sound of approval.

"I may have to try that one for myself later." His fingers moved from Martin's hair to the back of his neck, massaging gently. It was easy to imagine him doing the same thing after a long day at the office, working the tension out of Martin's neck and shoulders while he listened to him vent about his day. "You take it so well."

Martin closed his eyes, tears running down his cheeks as the cock in his mouth stilled, spilling something thick and sticky down his throat. He swallowed reflexively and took greedy gasps of air when it pulled free. He had just long enough to begin to catch his breath before another cock shoved its way past his lips.

Behind him, whatever was inside of him fucked him hard and fast and a new hand covered his cock, giving it a few slow tugs and then a painful squeeze. He breathed through his nose and focused on Peter's hand on the back of his neck, tried to just let it happen. Whatever this was, it had to end eventually.

Fingers--different then the first--eventually found their way inside of him, and something warm and wet covered his half-hard cock, and another dick shoved its way down his throat. The hands that held him down shifted occasionally, releasing him just long enough to be replaced by others, usually just before someone else took him. 

Peter sounded as calm and steady as ever through it all, vocal in his appreciation and encouragement. The only time his voice rose was when something too warm to be plastic or silicone and too wide to be fingers press against Martin's ass and he snapped, "No. You know the rules."

Something about the anger in his voice was more soothing than any of his praise or reassurances had been, and Martin clung to it, focusing on it while he waited for everything to end.

When it finally did, it took him a moment to realize. Every hand that wasn't Peter's was suddenly gone, leaving him lying against the table, dirty and exhausted, his mouth hanging open and his legs spread. Peter's fingers moved into his hair, smoothing it down, band then they left him, too.

He made a soft noise when they didn't return, leaving him completely alone for one long, endless moment. He kept his eyes closed, afraid that if he opened them, he'd find the room empty of everyone except himself. "Peter?"

"Almost done," Peter whispered, breath warm against the back of Martin's neck. There was a warm weight against his back as Peter pressed against him, followed by the familiar sound of a zipper and a rustle of fabric. Martin was too exhausted to react when he felt Peter's cock press against him. It slid inside of him without much resistance and Martin moaned quietly, bruised hips shifting restlessly against the edge of the table. 

He focused on the quiet creaking of the table beneath him and the sounds that Peter made as he fucked him, the way one of his hands gripped Martin's hips possessively; he was too numb for it to hurt any more, and he wondered what it would be like, doing this when it was just the two of them. If it would feel less dirty. Less like he was being used.

More like he mattered as more than just a hole to be fucked, or a tool to be used to help achieve an end.

Peter gave one last thrust and stilled. He breathed Martin's name and kissed the back of his neck, light and almost affectionate, then carefully pulled out of him.

Martin listened to the sound of Peter readjusting himself, waited until he felt a hand on the small of his back before he opened his eyes.

The Lukases stood around him, dressed in finery that was years out of date, their skin pale and their expressions a mixture of bored and amused and disapproving. They watched silently as Peter helped Martin up off the table, using the handkerchief tucked into the pocket of his suit to clean Martin's face. Martin stood there and let Peter put him back together, wondering why he didn't feel more bothered by the way that Peter's family was looking at him. 

Peter smoothed his hair down and smiled at him, face full of approval and condescension and even a bit of surprise. "Well done."

Martin met Peter's eyes and nodded slowly, feeling a swell of something that could have been confused with pride. "...thank you."

Somewhere behind him, one of the Lukases laughed and the sound worked its way slowly around the room. Martin could feel it filling the air around him, pressing into his skin and winding its way inside of him. Everywhere it touched, he felt empty. Alone.

Peter laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in, voice low and conspiratorial as he whispered, "Welcome to the family."


End file.
